When Pia threw back the old fashioned wooden shutters and let the morning sun into the room, I didn't even have to loosen my arms from the twenty quilts and sheets and blankets they were trapped under to cover my face. Jon simply hooked an arm around my waist and rolled us both over back into the narrow strip of darkness left.

"It's nearly ten o'clock, m'lady," Pia said with a disapproving tone. "I think you'd best be getting up."

My response wasn't fit for polite company but Pia refused to be put off. "Up!" she said and yanked open the second set of shutters. "The both of you! It's a disgrace to such a fine morning to lay about so late."

"I pay you far too much money to be treated like this," Jon muttered into my hair. "But I will gladly pay you even more if you simply go away."

"There's a man downstairs to see you, m'lady," Pia went on loudly. "And you had better resign yourself to being dressed or I shall march you downstairs in your pyjamas."

It was the exact same tone Old Nan had taken when I was playing silly buggers. The old hindbrain was powerless against it and I started untangling myself from the sheets and my husband with a sigh.

"Peck," Jon groaned, pulling a pillow over his face, "coffee, if you want to be merciful."

"Death, if you want to be merciful," I said and rolled onto the floor with a crash.

"Up, up!" Pia said, and worked me to my feet and into the bathroom. When I left to give Jon his turn, I was similarly shepherded behind the dressing screen.

"A dress today, m'lady," Pia said, having already laid out my limited sartorial choice-in essence-whatever she shoved over my head with the minimal amount of resisting on my part.

Normally I would have delighted at the thought of showing up in a very modern pair of trousers, but with a dress, I could have multiple layers over my legs. It was no contest at all.

"Have at it, then," I said and raised my arms obligingly for the shift.

Peck came into the room with the wonderful sound of rattling mugs on a tray. "Pour me one, darling," I told Jon as Pia laced me into something. "And I'll fix the buttons on your shirt."

There was a pause, and Jon said, "Damn it! How is it you always know?"

"Because you always misbutton them," I said and relented to the third petticoat. "It's hardly a guess."

"If m'lord would just allow me-" Peck tried, as he tried every day.

"At nearly six and twenty I am well versed in how to dress myself," Jon said sourly. "It's very liberating, I will add and I am much determined to retain the habit now that I've acquired it." His tone lightened as he went on. "Perhaps, if I continue, Arya will one day be inspired to attempt the same."

"Yes," I said back with a roll of my eyes. "When all I have to do to appear respectable is struggle into a shirt and trousers I shall be most delighted to do the same."

Pia had moved onto my hair, braiding it back with neat fingers. "Nearly done," she said cheerfully. "After, I shall administer your medicine and you may proceed down to breakfast and your guest."

Several foul doses later, I squinted at a new bottle. I knew it was new because the label hadn't been worn off with constant handling and rattling in that dratted bag. "What's that for?" I asked with great suspicion.

"The doctor advised using it when in cold air, m'lady," Pia said, dosing it onto a spoon.

"I don't remember seeing the doctor at Pinkmaiden," I said, suspicions mounting further. It was going to be the nastiest of the lot, I knew at once.

"I saw him on your behalf," Pia said firmly. "Drink that up, m'lady."

Her look plainly said, Or else. I took the spoon with trepidation and managed through great self control not to retch.

"It can't be that bad, dearheart," Jon said, powering through his second cup of coffee.

"Says you," I managed to choke out, and resolved to not fix his (still!) misbuttoned shirt.

Finally we were declared presentable and allowed downstairs. Pia and Peck had already eaten and stayed behind to do servant things-pick up the room, kiss aggressively in their relative privacy, mock us-that sort of thing, so I was at least allowed the dignity of them not hearing the noise I made when Father stood up from the bar and held his arms out to me.

Eventually I had to stop weeping or else choke. I tore myself away from him and threw myself onto a stool to let Jon have his turn and attempted thoroughly to comport myself in a more sophisticated manner.

There were scarcely more men in the room than when we had arrived, but the man I was sharing the bar with offered me his handkerchief with a look of great alarm.

I took it with relief and mopped at my eyes. Father and Jon were clinging together like two men on a life raft and it brought further tears to my eyes. Jon was still his favorite, oh yes, and I felt a small stirring of guilt that it was for my sake we had stayed away so long.

"You both look well," Father said roughly and clapped Jon's shoulder firmly. "The travel has done you good."

"Aye," Jon said and stepped back to rub at his own damp eyes. "Arya is much recovered, and I will admit, I feel the same."

I finished choking down the last of my untidy emotions and said, "It's good to see you, Father. I know that last time we met, I couldn't quite manage it."

He looked like he wanted to laugh, but also a little like he was horrified I would joke about it. "Aye," he said and put a rough hand on my head. "My girl."

And thus the status quo was restored and we could continue, as Northronmen did, to pretend there was nothing of the softer sort under our rough exteriors.

"Have you breakfasted?" Father asked and waved to Royce.

I stuffed my dripping wet handkerchief into my pocket-my fellow at the bar had declined the return of it-and said, "We've hardly just woken up."

"Well," Father said with a warm smile, "suppose you come eat at the house. Gage has been preparing a fearsome spread every day this week on the off chance you got your arrival date wrong."

Jon's stomach made an audible noise and I laughed. "I'd be delighted, Father," I said. "Darling, d'you have any objections?"

"I'd be a fool if I did," Jon said. "Let me go up and get the rest of our party, Uncle."

"Of course," he said easily and sat back down. "Arya and I will wait here."

Father, the absolute dear, gave it a decent minute, making sure Jon wasn't going to suddenly return before he said to me, "How are you truly?"

"Well enough," I said, trying not to grit my teeth. Father wasn't simply prying into my private affairs, I reminded myself. It was normal for the man to make sure I was taking care of myself.

"The tremors?" Father asked nervously. His eyes were mournful. "Your sight? Your lungs?"

"All parts functioning as they should," I said and patted his shoulder. No doubt he was having ghastly flashbacks to the gas wards in King's Landing, where he had been forced to visit me before I was summarily packed off to Dorne. Jon had followed a scant two weeks afterwards, but it had been Father who'd had to make the first few arrangements when we came back from oversea.

"I spoke to a doctor-" Father began, running a hand through his hair, but I absolutely couldn't stand another round of medical gobbledygook.

"Aye, and I've more than spoken to a few myself," I said, "and they all agree-so long as I keep myself away from factory work, chemicaled water, and cigarettes-I will stay hearty and hale."

The less he knew about Pia's never ending medicine bag, the better.

And it was just my good luck that Jon came clattering down the stairs a scant moment later, followed by our fellows. He came over at once, through his strange Arya-trouble sensing telepathy.

"You've positively saved me," I murmured just for him, pressing my temple to his shoulder and looking up at him through my lashes. Father being summarily distracted by Peck and Pia, it was safe enough for him to tilt my chin up and steal a quick kiss.

"The Northron Inquisition over?" he asked in a mutter, looping his arm around my waist.

"For now," I said with some relief. "Shall we go, Father? I am positively enthralled with the thought of seeing little Rickon again. Did you know, we only came back for his sakes? The poor little dear."

Father gave me a look that said he saw right through my brilliant subject change, but said, "Aye? You might find yourself surprised. Six years is a long time for a little lad like him."